


Transformation.

by LiterateGamer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Transformation, Body Horror, Evolution, Other, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterateGamer/pseuds/LiterateGamer
Summary: A young man camping out in the woods finds something quite... fishy about himself.A commission for TNR_12





	Transformation.

A glaze of mildewed breeze swept across waving grass, the soft croaking of running brooks and patient waters. Through the swaying treetops, the forest lay still in its belt around the clear waters of the lake. 

Within the woods, a good couple of stones’ throw away from the peaceful waters, a tent sat in between a tiny clearing of trees. It was lonely, an alien presence in an uncharted territory. Much like the one that dwelled within it.

Ruben Mays awoke in a light grog, his eyes blinking slowly to accommodate to the dim light of the sun's rays, shining through the thin canvas and nylon of his tent. He felt light on his feet, his body met with the refreshing natural cold of the outdoors. With light movement, he brought himself up from the dark sleeping bad, twisting his neck from side to side, muscles tensing, relaxing. 

It was then that he took a deep breath, clearing his mind and reminding himself of where he was, who he was, what he was doing. He'd come out here for two reasons; To clear his head, and search the lake for any changes in the local marine ecosystem. He was in the marker of fish, after all.

He emerged from his lonely little tent, palm outstretched to shield his eyes from the pockets of direct sunlight that broke through the trees. The forest was calm. Quiet, but not silent. The gentle chirping of birds and the light rustle of the wind against leaves setting the atmosphere of unbreakable peace.

A peace he revelled in with no apprehension, spreading his arms and stretching his body, freeing himself from the petrification or sleep. He checked his watch; 7:04 AM. Early morning, just past the crack of dawn.

He brushed his hands against the auburn fires of his hair, before reaching down and into his tent. Rummaging through his belongings, he emerged with a toothbrush, a rather large canteen, and a small knapsack with various snacks and field supplies. Everything needed to start his day. 

It was just as he finished brushing his teeth that he heard something. A sudden squeal that broke through the tranquility of the woods. He froze, looking around him with sudden apprehension. 

As he rattled his mind over the ecology of the area, said apprehension began to shift into a sense of almost scientific curiosity. From his time living in this state and researching the outdoors with father and brother, he had never known any dangerous predators in the area. Foxes, snakes, perhaps, but nothing more.

The squeak came again. More like an ethereal voice than an animal's cry. And for some reason, he felt compelled to follow it. Mind you, Ruben had never been the curious type. He would just as easily leave the matter be than pursue it, but for some reason, this voice in particular called to him. 

So, after grabbing hold of the binoculars from his knapsack, and taking a good chug of water, he began to trek through the woods, where the voice had come.

Along the way, he mentally mapped the area. He knew he had camped somewhere south of the lake, about a quarter of a mile away. He knew he was heading north, judging by the placement of the sun, visible through the foliage of the trees.

So, he thought. Planned. What kind of animal was it, where was it?

He halted in his tracks. Focused on the sounds of the forest, listening for that little sound again.

Another squeak. A whispered cry.

He set off again.

And so began a game of cat and mouse. Every time he heard a cry, he would move in its general direction. A harder task than it seemed at first, as the voice seemed to waver and echo. Almost like it was guiding him.

While he ran, the environment seemed to shift. Gone was the early morning mist, the light grays of the new day's fog. In a matter of moments, the forest had come alive. Colors that popped in saturation, the vivid paints of a master artist enveloping him with their light, their life.

After what seemed like hours of searching, he finally found himself stepping away from the lines of trees that made up the woods. He was standing on thin ground and gravel, a little beach that formed a rather glaring contrast from the living colors of where he'd come.

In front of him, was the lake.

Clear waters that sparkled with the now bright sun, a sparkling blue that reflected the skies above.

The voice whispered in his ear. His body refusing to move, eyes fixed on the beauty of the glass-like water.

He stepped forward. His emerald eyes stared at the water, a sudden unquenchable thirst filling his very soul. He had to drink, to satiate his mind with this magnificent source of life before him.

He knelt over the water, cupped a bit in his hands and after a small spell of guilt over the ripples in perfection he had selfishly caused, he drank.

A spear pierced his heart, and he fell on his back. Holding his head, he screamed into the heavens, a sudden burst of pain through his body.

He opened his eyes, but saw no clear blue skies. Instead, he gazed upon a starry sky.

He rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself to his knees. An attempt to get up, he quickly keeled over.

It was hard to breathe. His hands were splayed against the gravel and sand, grasping it so tightly he could feel the dust digging into his nails. The pain had disappeared as quickly as it arrived, but without it this feeling of change remained.

He felt anxious. His everyday routine and being suddenly shattered, shock that spread through his senses.

He looked to his hands, and he felt as if falling from a precipice.

His hands had changed. No longer the five pronged pieces of meat a human possessed, they were now growing. Changing. Webbed membranes that grew between his fingers as his bones cracked and elongated, scales that began to burst from his skin, bright red like his hair.

He could see each individual scale. Each crevice between them, his vision amplified. He felt his back enlarge, his shoulders broaden, his arms thin. Something at the base of his spine grew and grew, and his tongue coiled from his open mouth, dangling inches from the ground.

His clothes ripped and tore, and something began to grow from him. He felt vibrations, gusts of wind clashing against an extensión of his back. A fin?

He grasped at his ears, desperately, and cried out in confused anguish. His ears had retracted, his nose melded into his skull, his hair gone. Fins rose from his head, and protrusions at his neck. Gills?

He clumsily scurried to the water, stumbling once, twice due to his elongated legs. His feet were webbed. Claws at the end or hand and leg.

He looked at his reflection, and he stopped in his tracks. 

He was a monster now. An aberration of fish and man. The eyes of a viper stared back at him, the irises thin, his eyes a full, vibrant green.

He grasped at his face. Looked down at his chest, elbows, arms.

A tail coiled, and he let it do so around him. He touched it lightly, shivering at the sensitivity. 

The fear had passed. A curiosity had taken hold. It did not hurt. He felt as if though he could change back whenever he wanted.

He looked at the water, stared into its crystalline surface.

Without speaking a word, he dove into its surface. Perhaps searching for the voice that had beckoned him here.

Or maybe… he was searching for himself.


End file.
